


While It All Falls Apart

by jeahwriting



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahwriting/pseuds/jeahwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> A car accident and what happens after. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	While It All Falls Apart

  


Ryan remembered getting into his car that night. He remembered pulling into the middle of the intersection, waiting to turn left. And, looking through his side window, he remembered seeing the blinding white headlights and the screaming of a horn as a giant SUV inched closer and closer. 

  


The last thing Ryan remembered was feeling a cold sense of panic, before he heard the sickening crunch of metal on metal and everything went black.

  


 * * *

  


Michael got the call later that night. He was sitting in the living room, feet on the table and constantly checking his phone. Ryan said he’d be home like hours ago and Lochte wasn’t one to miss one of their dates. Michael groaned and threw his head back on the couch. Their dinner was getting cold.

  


Mike jumped up from his seat when he felt his phone ring. Checking the caller ID, he whipped the phone to his ear. “Bout time you called, Reezy.” He smiled because he could practically hear the excuses Ryan would come up with. “I’ve been waiting like forever for you, man, where the hell—”

  


“Uhm, Michael? Michael Phelps?”

  


Michael froze. The voice didn’t belong to Ryan. It was deep and hoarse and sounded too formal.

  


“Uhh, yeah. Who is this?” Michael’s throat went dry. Who was this man? Why was he calling from Ryan’s phone? Did something happen? Michael suddenly felt dizzy and sat down to steady himself.

  


“This is the captain of the police department. Your friend Ryan Lochte was involved in a car accident earlier today—”

  


Michael stopped listening. Ryan Lochte was involved in a car accident—Ryan Lochte was involved in an accident—Ryan Lochte was involved— Michael saw spots. He gripped the edge of the couch and tried to calm the thud of his heartbeat.

  


“Hello? Are you still with me?”

  


“Yeah,” Michael stuttered out. He took a deep breath. Okay, so there was a car crash. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he was imagining them to be. “How is he?

  


The man on the other end was silent for what felt like a lifetime. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You should probably come to the hospital.” 

  


* * * 

  


Michael’s chest felt tight, like there was something constricting it. He leaned forward on his seat and tried to focus on the white tiles of the waiting room. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

  


“Michael?” Through the haze that bogged down his mind, Michael thought he heard his name. “Michael Phelps?” There it was again. Mike blinked rapidly and turned his head. 

  


Ileana and Megan were by his side, both of them pale. Ileana’s eyes were red, like she had been crying, and Megan was clutching her sweater. Her knuckles were white.

  


“When—when did you get here?”

  


Michael cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and raspy. “Just an hour ago. He’s still in there.”

  


He gestured at the large wooden doors at the far end of the room. The doors he had been staring at for the past hour or so. Michael wiped his face with his hands and rubbed his neck. “Shit, they won’t tell us what’s happening and like I don’t even know—”

  


“Shhh.” Ileana wrapped him in a hug, and Michael sort of melted into her arms. 

  


 * * *

  


Ryan kept fading in and out of consciousness. He woke up and saw stars and blurry figures and his head just hurt too much to figure anything out, so he just went back to sleep. 

  


One time, he opened his eyes to see the doctor leaning over him, clipboard in hand, just shaking his head. And he was holding what looked like a needle, so Ryan faded right back out again. Another time, he thought he saw his mom by his side, bawling her eyes out—and he so wanted to reach out and comfort her, tell her everything was going to be okay, that he was okay—but he couldn’t lift his hand and then his mom had gotten up and left. And once, he had opened his eyes to see—uh, Michael, was it?—standing by his bed, gripping his hand so hard that it almost hurt. 

  


The first time Ryan properly woke up, he was surrounded by a group of people. He saw his mom and dad and sisters and some nurses. But most of all, he saw Michael, who was right by his side.

  


“What—” Ryan’s voice came out as a croak. He licked his lips and swallowed a few times. “What happened?”

  


As he spoke, he saw color flood Michael’s face. Mike let out a sigh of relief and buried his head in the hospital sheets. When he lifted his face, Ryan saw tears in his eyes—and that was a little weird. Ryan squinted at him and then at his family. 

  


“Shit, Ry, thank god, you’re okay.” And Michael was laughing, eyes red. Looking closer, Ryan realized that Michael looked awful. He was sporting a horribly scruffy beard and looked pale and—damn he even looked skinner than before. “Jesus, I was so fucking scared that you—”

  


Ryan caught Michael leaning in, a smile still on his face and eyes locked on his lips, and like what the fuck? Ryan jerked back and pushed Mike away. He forced out a laugh, because he really didn’t know how else to react. “Woah there, Mike.” He saw Michael freeze. “What in the world are you doing?”

  


Michael’s face grew pale. He turned to Ryan’s family, who looked a little confused. “Well, I was just—”

  


And then Ryan let out a genuine laugh because oh okay, this was just another one of Michael’s random ass jokes. And Ryan probably would’ve understood it, if his head didn’t hurt so much and he didn’t feel so drowsy. “Wow, for a second there, I thought Michael Phelps was actually going to kiss me.” 

  


No one else laughed. Suddenly, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room. Ileana’s hand flew to her mouth. Steven massaged his temples. His sisters exchanged glances that Ryan really didn’t understand. Michael’s eyes had gone wide and he gripped at the wall. He looked almost like he had just seen a ghost.

  


“You don’t remember—”

  


Ryan waited, but Michael didn’t say anything else. “Uh, the car crash? Yeah, dude, I remember.” He cringed, recollecting the ear-splitting sound of the horn and the blinding pain on his left. No. Ryan pushed the thought away. “But like, I don’t remember like where I was going or what I was doing or—” A thought occurred to him. “Hey, Mike, what are you doing here anyways? Like isn’t Bob going to kill you when he finds out you flew all the way down here just to visit me?”

  


At that, Michael visibly winced. He was staring at the ground, hand in his hair. “He doesn’t remember, he doesn’t remember.” Michael spun and practically raced out the door, Ileana at his heels, calling after him.

  


Ryan stared at the open door. Okay, what the fuck just happened? He looked at the rest of his family, but they were kind of just gaping at him. Ryan blinked a few times and tried to remember why Michael would react the way he did—and why the fuck Mike was there to begin with. Seriously, was he missing something? Something important?

  


* * * 

  


Michael had raced to Dr. Patel, who was at the front counter, clipboard in hand.

  


“Why the fuck doesn’t he remember anything?”

  


Dr. Patel looked up from his clipboard and focused his eyes on a very red-faced Michael Phelps. “Oh, hello, Michael. How’re you doing?”

  


Michael groaned. “Stop. Ryan Lochte. Why doesn’t he remember anything? You promised me that, on the off-chance that he actually woke up, he would be good as new.”

  


The doctor flipped through his charts and squinted at some words on the page. “Ahh, yes. So I did.”

  


Michael gritted his teeth together and kept himself from strangling the short Indian man. “Well, he’s not fucking good as new!” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He kept seeing Ryan’s blank eyes when he had gone to kiss him. Kept hearing the laugh and the shove to his chest. “He doesn’t remember who I am or what I mean to him or anything. It’s like the last fucking two years never happened.” 

  


Michael had led the doctor to Ryan’s room. After a quick check and chat with some of the other doctors, Dr. Patel turned to Michael and Ryan’s family, face solemn.

  


“Temporary memory loss. It happens sometimes after full body injuries or injuries to the head.” 

  


Michael turned away and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit.”

  


“But not to worry.” The doctor watched Michael closely, because it seemed like he was taking it the hardest. “It’s usually temporary and the memory usually comes back in a matter of weeks. And it’s not the entire memory either—just parts of it. In his case,” He gestured at Ryan, who had dozed off once again. “He seemed to have lost the last few years.”

  


Michael sat down and put his head in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  


“And it’ll probably be hard for him—cause he’s done stuff and he’s been with people that he can’t remember and that’s going to be really awful. You’re just going to have to be patient with him.”

  


Michael finally looked up. “And what if his memory never comes back?”

  


“It will.”

  


“But what if it doesn’t?”

  


Dr. Patel shifted uncomfortably. “Well, then you’re just going to have to make the best with what’s left.”

  


* * * 

  


The next time Ryan woke, he was alone in his hospital room with Michael. Phelps was sitting on a chair by his bedside, slumped over and twisting the silver platinum band on his finger. Which was weird, because Ryan didn’t remember Michael having a girlfriend long enough to have a promise ring or anything. He heard Mike sniff and take a deep breath and Ryan realized that he was probably crying. And that was just really uncomfortable.

  


“Uh,” Ryan started. He didn’t know what else to say.

  


Michael looked up and, realizing that Ryan was awake, quickly forced on a smile. “Hey, Reezy, good to see you up again.” He turned and wiped at his face. Ryan looked away because he felt like he was almost intruding on Mike’s private emotions or something.

  


“Yeah.” His head still throbbed and he still wasn’t really sure what time or day or week it was. “Uh, so, what’s up?” 

  


Michael didn’t come up with some lame smart ass answer like he usually did. He played with Ryan’s hospital sheets, staring at the bed spread. When he finally looked up, his eyes were serious. Ryan tried to find a hint of a joke in them—because, honestly, when could Mike ever be that serious when the two of them were together—but he couldn’t. Ryan felt his heart clench. This was just getting so fucking weird.

  


“Ryan, we have to talk.”

  


Ryan just nodded. Okay.

  


“The doctor said that you have temporary memory loss.”

  


Ryan nodded again. He figured as much. There were gaps in his memory that he just couldn’t fill. He knew they were there because some things just didn’t add up—like why Michael was here when he should be in Baltimore and why everyone kept giving him strange looks and why he couldn’t remember where he was going that night of the accident. There were moments that had just dropped out of his life—and they made Ryan itch because those memories could quite literally contain anything. 

  


“So,” Mike looked at his hands. Shit, was he nervous? Since when did anything make the Michael Phelps nervous? “What’s—like what’s the last thing you remember? About us.”

  


Ryan raised his eyebrows. Well, that was a weird way to put it.

  


“Uhm, well I don’t know what you mean by ‘us’, but the last thing I really remember is Worlds.”

  


“2011?”

  


“Uh.” Jesus, what year was it anyways? “2009.”

  


“Shit.” Michael put his head in his hands. “Shit, that’s before we even—” He sighed and looked back up. “So you don’t remember anything.”

  


Ryan sighed, exasperated. “Dude, why the fuck do you keep saying that? Of course, I remember stuff. Like I remember swimming and training and shit. And I remember us being like best friends or something. I didn’t forget everything.”

  


Michael stayed silent at that—and for the longest time, the room was quiet. When Michael spoke again, his voice was soft and hesitant and almost—vulnerable. Ryan looked at Mike’s eyes and there was something odd there. They were dark and intense and Ryan was a little thrown because he didn’t remember ever seeing that look before.

  


“Okay, listen, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t like freak out on me or anything. Please.” Uh. And for the first time, Ryan felt himself start to get a little worried because what the fuck could’ve happened in the last 3 years that would make Mike act like this? “Please, Ry, promise me.”

  


Ryan didn’t really even hear the last bit because ‘Ry’. Fuck, Michael had never ever called him that before—so why did it seem so familiar? 

  


“Ryan?”

  


Ryan shook the thoughts away. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I won’t freak out, dude.”

  


“Okay.” Michael took a deep breath. “You and I—we were, well, we were sort of together.”

  


And Ryan almost laughed, because that was just really rich, but he stopped when he noticed the earnest look in Mike’s eyes. Fuck. _Fuck._

  


“You’re joking.” But Ryan knew that he wasn’t. Everything seemed to make sense now. Why Michael was down here with him, why his family had kept measuring his reaction to Mike, and, shit, why Michael had tried to fucking kiss him. “You’re joking.”

  


“I’m not.” Michael’s eyes were glued on him, just waiting for a reaction. Ryan didn’t give him one. He just stared ahead and tried to think of how—how—this could’ve been possible. Like, the last thing he remembered was being Mike’s friend. And yeah, they were super close for a couple of dudes, but that was just cause they both liked the same things and had the same sense of humor. Not cause they fucking liked each other. Like, where did that even come from?

  


“Are you sure?”

  


“Positive. You gave me this a couple months back.” Mike gestured at the ring on his finger. So, that explained that. 

  


“How—like, how—”

  


And so Mike told Ryan everything. Everything from their first kiss in Ryan’s backyard to the first time they fucked in Mike’s king-sized bed to their first real date at some small Italian restaurant. He told him about the first time Mike had told him that he loved him and how that had never changed. He told him about their first trip to Europe and how Ryan had been stupid enough to get lost like 3 times. And he told him about the time that they had come out to their parents.

  


“Dude, they were so supportive. Like it was so surprising, but so great, you know?” Michael grinned and his eyes seemed far off, like he was imagining the scene in front of him. 

  


Ryan didn’t answer. He sat there, taking everything Michael was telling him in. Shit, they had kissed? They had traveled together? Jesus, they had fucked? Shit, shit, shit. And he knew that he had told Michael that he wouldn’t freak out, but like seriously, how could he not? Mike had just told him that their so-called platonic friendship hadn’t been so platonic after all and that was just a lot to take in one sitting. Like, okay, it was like he had gone to sleep, and when he woke up, he was in this committed relationship—with a dude no less—and like what the fuck. What the actual fuck was he supposed to say to that. 

  


“Ryan.” Michael had stopped talking and now he was watching Ryan closely. “Please say something.” 

  


And Ryan really didn’t know what to do because Mike was here looking scared shitless but Ryan couldn’t make him feel any better because he just didn’t remember.

  


“I don’t—I mean, I’m sure I loved you too.” And okay, Ryan really shouldn’t have said anything because Mike cringed at those words like they were physically hurting him. “But, I just can’t—I don’t feel anything towards you.” Plain and simple. Rip the band-aid. “I’m sorry. I wish I did, but I don’t.” 

  


 * * *

  


For the next few weeks, Michael didn’t visit as much he probably could have, and Ryan didn’t really blame him. After all, if he had fallen in love with someone who had forgotten everything they had ever been through, Ryan supposed that he would’ve wanted his space as well. The few times that Mike did visit, he stayed quiet for the most part. He spent most of the time staring at Ryan’s sheets, breaking the silence only to ask Ryan how he was feeling.

  


When Ryan was finally released from the hospital, he found out that he and Michael lived together. And that was also really fucking weird. Ryan stayed silent in the car as Michael drove them home. He stared out the window and tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

  


The next day, Michael took Ryan out.

  


“It’s been like a month since your accident.” Ryan heard the fear in his voice. “And like, your memory hasn’t come back yet on its own. So we’re going to like help it along.”

  


What he meant by that, Ryan found out later, was that they were going to retrace all the important steps of their relationship and see if Ryan remembered anything. Ryan figured it was as good a plan as any.

  


The first place Michael took him was Ryan’s own house. None of his family was home so Michael just let the two of them in—because apparently, he now had a key to Ryan’s parents’ home. It was cloudy out and the wind was blowing softly. Michael took Ryan’s hand—and Ryan let him because he really didn’t see a point in hurting Mike anymore than he had to.

  


Mike led Ryan to his backyard and told him to sit on the edge of the pool. Ryan did, dipping his feet into the cool, blue water.

  


“This is where we first kissed.” And Ryan remembered Michael telling him something about it in the hospital weeks ago but that was when Ryan was still super dizzy and didn’t really know what was going on. Plus, actually being in the backyard somehow made things more real. “We were here one night about two or three years ago, when I had like come down to visit like I always used to do back then.”

  


Ryan remembered that. Every weekend, he was either in Baltimore, or Mike was in Gainesville. 

  


“We were just sitting here talking about random shit and drinking beer. And when I turned to you, you just had this really—I don’t know, beautiful—grin on your face.” Mike was facing him and he just watched Ryan with such intensity that Ryan looked down and stared at the pool. He felt a blush creep to his cheeks. “And I had thought about you that way before, but I never really considered making a move. Until you like leaned forward and I don’t know, I just really wanted to kiss you and see what you tasted like. So I did.”

  


Mike reached out and put his hand on Ryan’s neck. Ryan froze. Okay, this was getting super awkward and kind of uncomfortable. He leaned back a little and Michael pulled his hand away. He cleared his throat.

  


“Anyways, the best part was that you actually kissed me back. At first, you leaned back slightly and there was something weird in your eyes—like I still don’t know what it was—but then, you kind of grabbed at my shirt and you kissed harder than I’ve ever been kissed before and it was just pretty fucking awesome.”

  


Ryan closed his eyes and tried to remember. Okay, it was night and there drinking and talking and kissing and—fuck—Ryan just couldn’t picture it. His mind supplied him nothing and all he could do was imagine the scene Michael had described. 

  


When Ryan opened his eyes, Mike already seemed to know that Ryan didn’t remember.

  


“I—” 

  


“Don’t. It’s not your fault.” Mike flashed Ryan a sort of half-smile. “Plus, I have plenty of other places to show you.”

  


* * * 

  


For the next few days, that’s all that Michael and Ryan did. Travel around town and stop at any location that held the slightest memory of their relationship. Nothing struck a chord with Ryan. He didn’t remember any of it—not the lake or the rooftop or the locker rooms at the training pools or the community center. And each time that Ryan shook his head or indicated that he didn’t remember anything, Michael’s shoulders seemed to slump more and more. With each blank stare or confused look, Mike seemed to get more and more dejected until Ryan wondered if he even had any hope left.

  


The one location that really stuck out to Ryan was the little Italian restaurant.

  


“This is where you took me on our first date,” Michael said. He led Ryan inside and spoke quickly to the hostess. The two of them followed her to a little table in a far corner. “Paparazzi still sort of stalked me back then so you picked this place cause its quiet and we could have some privacy.”

  


Ryan nodded and looked around. It was definitely not the type of place he would normally choose. It was simple and understated and, like, there was no pizzazz anywhere. No, it was more like Mike’s type of place, all quiet and intimate. And then Ryan kind of understood why he might have chosen it. After all, it was Mike he had been dating.

  


Ryan suddenly wondered how different he had been as a person before he had lost his memory. He wondered if Mike had had any influence on him—if he had changed him in any way. He wondered if Mike had made him a better person.

  


When their food came, Michael continued talking. “It was a lot like this, actually. Our first date, I mean. It was, I don’t know, about 6 months or something after we kissed? We were both kind of dancing around what we were—we like made out and fucked a lot, but we never really talked about anything. And then, finally, one weekend when I was down in Gainesville, I told you that I was fucking sick of being your fuck buddy and that I like wanted something more.”

  


Michael spoke to his spaghetti and Ryan could imagine why. Saying these things out loud must’ve been awkward.

  


“And you kind of got this really dopey grin on your face. You nodded and kissed me and told me that you’d take me out. On a real date. So you brought me here.”

  


For a minute, all they could hear at their table was the clanking of silverware.

  


“It was one of the best days ever.” Mike spoke quietly. “We just sat at this table and talked about everything. We laughed and joked and everything was just so easy. And like, it just sucks that I might—that we might never have that again.” Michael’s voice cracked and Ryan felt tears sting his eyes.

  


Fuck, he really wanted to remember. Ryan didn’t want anything more in that moment than to just remember. Shit, here was a man that loved the fucking hell out of him and Ryan wanted so much to love him back. Because from everything Mike was telling him, Ryan sounded happy. It sounded like he was fucking happy with Mike. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked back the tears. Fuck, he just really wanted to feel something for this man. 

  


* * * 

  


That Friday, Mike took Ryan to a club. 

  


“We should both just let loose, you know? Take a break from all this remembering and shit.”

  


Ryan couldn’t agree more. 

  


The club was dark and loud and Ryan could feel the beat of the music pulsating in his bones. And yeah, he had missed this. After the first couple of shots, Ryan’s head buzzed. 

  


Ryan wrapped his arm around Michael and for a second, he forgot all the shit that had gone down between them. This was natural. Them partying together and getting drunk—and finding chicks to bang. “Come on, Mpeezy, let’s dance.”

  


Michael scoffed at him. “You’ve been here for like half an hour. Are you seriously wasted already?”

  


Ryan shrugged, grinning. He turned and set off for the dance floor, drink in hand and hips gyrating almost comically. At one point, he noticed a tall man, with green eyes and dark hair, amidst the crowd. Good god, he was hot. Without really thinking, Ryan found himself drawn to the guy, inching closer and closer until he was right in front of him. The man looked at him steadily, giving him the once over, and then wrapped his arms around Lochte’s neck. Ryan didn’t stop him—instead he leaned forward, pressing their bodies closer together.

  


As song after song played, Ryan found himself grinding on the man, his hips rocking steadily to the music. The man had dipped his head down, sucking kisses into Ryan’s neck. Ryan groaned and slipped his fingers under the man’s shirt. 

  


He wasn’t thinking. He didn’t think about what he was doing or who he was with or the fact that he was grinding on a fucking dude. All he knew was that there was alcohol buzzing through his veins—telling him to go faster, do more—and that his dick hadn’t had any god-damn attention in weeks. He felt the thump of the bass and the blinding disco lights and he just went with it, because he did not want to fucking think anymore. He was tired of it—the thinking and remembering and the fucking wall that he kept hitting when tried to do either.

  


This felt good for once. Letting go.

  


Midway through some club mix that sounded a lot like Black Eyed Peas, Ryan felt a hand grip his shoulder. Before he could shrug the hand off, he felt himself get yanked sharply back. Ryan almost lost his balance, and when he regained focus, he found himself face to face with a very angry looking Michael Phelps.

  


“Ryan, what the fuck are you doing?” Mike’s face was beet red, clammy and a little moist. His eyes were narrowed dangerously. Ryan took a step back because he had literally never seen Mike so mad. “How the fuck can you do this to me?”

  


Do what? Ryan shook his head rapidly. What in the world had he been doing? He stared at Mike’s gritted teeth and narrowed eyes and then he saw the green-eyed man beside him and—oh. Fuck.

  


“Mike, I—”

  


“Just stop. God, I can’t even—” Mike spun around, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Like, just leave me alone, you little fucker.”

  


Without another word, Michael made a beeline for the back of the club. 

  


Shit. Ryan groaned and kicked himself. When had things gotten so fucking complicated? He followed Mike’s footsteps, lightly shoving dancing bodies aside.

  


He found Mike outside gripping at the railing and breathing heavily. When he realized that Ryan had tailed him, Mike rounded on him. “Didn’t I tell you to leAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE?”

  


And Ryan felt something snap. “Mike, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucking grinded on another guy.” He saw Mike wince. “But you have no right to scream at me, because I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember you or me or whatever the fuck we were, okay? I just don’t remember.”

  


Ryan’s voice was high-pitched and Mike’s face softened the slightest at that. “Ryan.” He stepped closer and Ryan could smell the whiskey and mint on his breath. “Ryan, I’ve taken you to like 20 places this week—places that meant as much to you as they did to me. You’ve got to tell me that you remember something. Anything.”

  


Ryan shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  


Ryan thought he saw a muscle twitch in Michael’s jaw—and then he was pressed up against him. Mike had his hands in Ryan’s hair and he stared at Ryan’s lips. “Okay,” Michael’s voice was just above a whisper. “Okay, you don’t remember. But what about right now? Aren’t you attracted to me at all?”

  


“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Ryan couldn’t think clearly. He felt the warmth of Mike’s body and inhaled the musky scent of his cologne—and he just didn’t know. “Shit, Mike, you’ve been my best friend for like the longest time ever. I mean, you’re like a brother to me.”

  


At that Mike drew back sharply, face pale. “I’m like a brother to you?”

  


Fuck, wrong word choice. “No, I just meant that—”

  


But Michael wasn’t listening to him any more. He staggered backwards and, hitting the side of the club, he sunk to the floor, head in his arms. 

  


Ryan felt something twist in the pit of his stomach. He wanted so bad to just take Mike in his arms and take back everything he said. But he knew that that probably wasn’t the smartest idea. 

  


So, he just stood there and watched Mike tremble, hating himself more and more.

  


* * * 

  


Ryan was packing his stuff together. He clearly wasn’t going to remember anything, and it just wasn’t fair to Mike for him to stick around. They had decided together that it was easiest if Ryan just moved out, since his mom’s house was just a couple of hours away and it really wouldn’t be a major change for him. If Mike were to move out, he would probably have to go all the way back to Baltimore—and start all over again there.

  


Although, if Ryan was being honest, he figured that both of them had to start all over again, anyways.

  


As Ryan was clearing out the bedside table, he came across a letter. Okay. So apparently, he and Mike wrote letters back then. The envelope was dated for a little less than a year ago. On the front, he saw the words ‘to Ryan’ scribbled in Mike’s crooked handwriting.

  


_Hey Ryan,_

  


_I know this is like super lame, but you won’t return any of my texts or take any of my calls and I just don’t know what to do anymore. Please don’t rip this up. Just read it through and then you can do whatever you want._

  


_I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to make out with Ricky and I definitely didn’t mean for you to see us. Shit, Ryan, I was just so drunk and Chloe was there and she kept like touching you and I just got so jealous. And I know that’s no excuse, but I thought that you should know what’s up._

  


_Fuck, man, I don’t feel anything for him. You know I don’t. When I was—kissing him—I never stopped thinking about you. Ry, you’re everything to me.”_

  


Ryan froze. Suddenly, the walls around him were too close and it was a lot harder to breathe. There it was again—Ry. Ryan saw a flash of an image. He and Mike were on their bed and Mike was carding his hand through Ryan’s curls. And he was calling him ‘Ry’. Ryan shook his head quickly, but he couldn’t shake the image. 

  


_It’s been so long since I’ve even considered going with another guy. Shit, I don’t have to, because I have you and you’re all I’ve ever wanted. I know you’re pissed at me and that you probably hate me, but you just have to know that I love you. I do. I fucking love you, Ry._

  


Ryan groaned and put his head in his hands. The dull ache doubled and his brain was searing. It was like his mind was splitting at the seams and all he could see was a blinding white light. He saw flashes—Mike grinning at him, Mike touching him, Mike taking his hand—and he clutched at the table. When he could see straight again, Ryan turned back to the letter.

  


_And I guess it’s a little weird that this is the first time I’m saying it, but it’s just been true for so long. I could’ve said it on our very first date, because I felt it even then. I love you, and I think I always will, even if you don’t forgive me. No matter what happens, I don’t think I could ever stop feeling these things for you, because you make me feel like nothing else in the world matters. You make me laugh and cry and smile until my face hurts and I can never forget that. You make me feel lighter than I’ve ever felt before and like I’m on top of the fucking world._

  


_I’m just asking you for a second chance, Ry. I know I don’t deserve it, because I hurt the one person I swore I’d never hurt. But, shit, Doggy, everything is just so much better when you’re there. Just more awesome, you know?_

  


Ryan saw Mike kissing Ricky. He saw the bathroom he had collapsed in when he had run away. He saw Cullen comforting him. He saw Mike trying to talk to him. 

  


And suddenly, Ryan remembered how the letter ended.

  


_I want a future with you, Ryan. I want to hold your hand until we both grow old and wrinkly. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. And maybe it’s too late, but I hope to God it isn’t, because I can’t imagine life without you. You light everything up. Things just don’t seem so bad when you’re smiling your stupid grin and making your random ass jokes._

  


_I’m up on the roof right now. I’m not really expecting you to show up, but I hope that you do._

  


_We’re good together, Doggy. Maybe not perfect—maybe far from perfect—but somehow, we work. And, man, if you actually forgive me, I swear that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be perfect for you. Because you deserve it._

  


_Love,_  
_Mike_

  


* * * 

  


Michael was standing in their backyard, one foot up in a sort of crane position. He had his back to the door, staring out past the walls and out at the mountains in the distance.

  


Ryan stumbled onto the patio. His hands were shaking and his head felt like it was on fire. He saw the little Italian restaurant. He saw the poolside kiss. He saw the bed where they first made love. He saw Mike leaning in, he felt Mike’s teeth hard under his lips, he felt Mike’s scruffy beard scratch his face. 

  


Ryan gripped at the chair, the table—something to steady himself. The wall that he had been scratching at for the past two months suddenly wasn’t there anymore, and Ryan felt like he was flooded with all these memories that he remembered but didn’t really remember. 

  


“Mike, Mike.” His voice sounded far away. 

  


Michael spun around. He was at Ryan’s side in seconds, hopping over the lawn chairs and patio furniture. He put an arm under Lochte, steadying him. “—fuck, Ryan, what’s wrong?” When Ryan didn’t respond, Mike shook him a little. “Dude, you’re scaring me. Ry, shit—”

  


Ryan studied Michael’s face. He was gaunt and pale and had an almost sickly undertone to his skin. His beard was uneven and his hair was a little too long. But Ryan couldn’t remember ever seeing something so perfect. He stared at Michael and saw the man that had shaken his hand at the Athens Olympics, the man that had laughed at all his jokes in the ready room, the man that had come down to Gainesville every other weekend, the man that had kissed him under the stars, the man that had thrown him on the bed and fucked him senseless, the man that had written a letter that made him cry, and the man that had stood by his side while he forgot it all. 

  


Ryan felt tears flooding his eyes and, before he knew what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mike’s. He felt Mike freeze under him—felt the grip on his arm tighten almost painfully—but then Mike kissed back just as hard and Ryan felt like he couldn’t get enough. They kissed there, hot and sloppy, and Ryan felt like he could’ve done that forever, except that Mike was lightly pushing him back.

  


“Ryan.” Mike’s face was flushed. His palms were spread on Ryan’s chest. “Ryan, what—what are you doing?”

  


And Ryan grinned. Because he remembered. He saw everything—the moments with Mike, the moments with his family, the moments swimming—and things finally seemed to add up a bit. Ryan reached up and grabbed Mike’s ears. 

  


“That letter is still the corniest piece of shit I’ve ever read.”

  


Michael stayed silent for the longest time. “You mean you—”

  


Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Everything. Like how much of a grump you are in the mornings, and how you like the left side of the bed, and how you spend all your fucking money on golf clubs—and okay, I did not get lost 3 times in Europe, you noob, I was like sightseeing and you were the one—”

  


But Ryan couldn’t finish, because Mike was there swallowing the sounds out of his mouth. He felt Mike’s lips twist into a smile, his teeth pressing against his lips. “Good to have you back, Ry.”

  


Ryan leaned his forehead against his, grinning and wiping at the tears on Mike’s cheek. 

  


“Good to be back.”

  
And it was.


End file.
